The Half-Child (33 page)

As in
The Ramayana
, with Hanuman's help, Rama rescues his beloved wife Sita from the demon king Ravana. But in the Indian version, Rama is so tortured by doubts about Sita's fidelity, she allows herself to be swallowed up by the earth to prove her love to him. In the Thai account, Rama and Sita get to live happily ever after.

Rajiv took it as a good omen.

42

Dear Sarah,

It's been so long since I last wrote, you must have given up on me. Sorry. When I explain what's been going on, I think you'll understand.

Remember a couple of months ago I told you about Sumet, the guy I was seeing? Well, things have become pretty serious. Actually, that's the understatement of the year. Truth is, we're planning to get married and we're having a baby.

Don't freak out! I know it seems sudden, but it feels totally right. From the moment I met Sumet, I felt like we were destined to be together.

I know we're young and have only known each other a short time (blah, blah, blah), but Thailand has taught me that life is too short to hesitate when you find what you really want. In the time I've been here, two babies have died at the centre where I work. Makes you realise how important it is to seize the day.

We're planning to live in Thailand. Sumet says we can get a relative of his to come and live with us to help cook and clean after the baby is born, which sounds good to me!

Obviously I'll want to bring the baby to Australia at some point to meet you and the rest of the family, which is where you come in.

Sarah, I need to ask you a BIG favour. You know you're my favourite aunt (grovel, grovel), and we've always had a lot more in common than either of us have with Dad. Could you please help me tell Mum and Dad about Sumet and the baby? I know Dad will go ballistic and I just don't want to have to deal with it. I figure if you break it to him, give him the chance to vent his spleen, I can talk with him after he's calmed down. Would you do this for me?

In case you're wondering, I feel fine. I'm 12 weeks' pregnant, which the doctor says is out of the danger zone. You're the first person to know after me, Sumet and Doctor Apiradee.

My darling auntie, I promise I'll name the baby after you if it's a girl, though we don't know what we're having. I honestly don't mind, though Sumet wants a girl. I think you'd really like him, Sarah. And I'm sure if you could see how happy I am, you'd be happy for me.

Always your loving niece,

Maryanne

43

K
anchanaburi's infamous floating karaoke bars were moored indecently close to the JEATH War Museum, named for the key players involved in the construction of the Death Railway: Japan, England, Australia, America, Thailand and Holland. Jayne couldn't help wondering how the ghosts of the Allied POWs, Asian labourers and their Japanese captors felt about the flashing lights and reverberating din. Did the ascendancy of karaoke—literally ‘empty orchestra'—make the Japanese ghosts feel superior? Did the others sit on the riverbank and shake their heads to think they fought and died for this?

‘Let's go there for dinner,' Rajiv said.

‘Are you serious?'

He wiggled his head. ‘The one called Mae Klong is supposed to have the best food.'

As part of atoning for her recent behaviour, Jayne had left the itinerary to Rajiv. He'd booked separate floating huts for their accommodation and barely allowed Jayne time to put down her bag before whisking her off to spend the afternoon exploring the town's attractions. Not exactly romantic, but as angry as she'd been with Rajiv, as confused as he sometimes made her feel, Jayne was attracted to him. More than ever. She proposed the trip to Kanchanaburi with the idea it would either make or break them. So far the signs were not great. She hoped her luck would improve over dinner, but a karaoke restaurant didn't bode well.

She picked out the Thai script for ‘Mae Klong' from one of several floating huts lining the docks. The main room had two walls, one flanked by a large wooden bar and lined to the ceiling with bottles of alcohol on shelves backlit with pink neon. The other wall at right angles to the bar contained a small, darkened stage with a television to one side and a cordless microphone resting in a stand. The restaurant was otherwise open-sided, with clusters of tables and chairs between the bar and stage and the kitchen on the upper deck.

Over a meal of jungle curry spiked with whole red chillies and sprigs of green peppercorns, they de-briefed on the Maryanne Delbeck case.

‘You know, Maryanne wrote in her email that she was twelve weeks' pregnant, but she was only eight weeks at the time she died. She drafted that letter four weeks before she intended to send it. She must have felt so lonely.'

‘Hmm,' Rajiv murmured. ‘And it was written the day before she died, isn't it?'

Jayne raised her eyebrows. ‘You've been paying attention.'

Rajiv smiled and helped himself to one of her cigarettes.

‘So what have you decided to tell the family?'

‘My report to Jim Delbeck will attribute Maryanne's tragic death to a case of high jinks gone wrong, and explain that Maryanne's friends were too scared to go to the police. I'm counting on him to understand, given his prejudices about Thai cops. At least I'll be able to reassure him Maryanne was never suicidal. And I'll send the official paperwork showing the revised verdict of accidental death.'

‘And if he wants to take it further?'

‘I've thought about that. If Jim Delbeck wants someone to blame, I reckon the best bet is to dangle Doctor Somsri before him. After all, the doctor defrauded everyone by fabricating Maryanne's mental illness.'

Rajiv whistled through an exhalation of smoke. ‘Nice touch.'

‘Yeah, we might yet put him out of business—at least temporarily.'

Jayne pushed aside her plate and reached for a cigarette.

‘I also want to send Maryanne's email to her aunt. I'll leave it to her to decide how much more Maryanne's parents need to know. And I'll ask for her postal address so I can mail her the diary. Is it possible to add a note to the email?'

Rajiv wiggled his head. ‘Of course. I am thinking it's about time you obtained an email account.'

‘You're determined to get me using it, aren't you?'

‘Up to you,' Rajiv said, ‘How long do letters from Australia normally take?'

‘Between one and two weeks.'

Rajiv wiggled his head again, a gesture Jayne had come to realise could mean as many different things as a Thai smile.

‘I guess if the Thai police are using email, it can't be that hard, right?'

Rajiv smiled and held a lighter to Jayne's cigarette.

‘At this rate, I really will have to put you on the payroll as my assistant.'

His smile faded.

‘I am not wanting to be your assistant,' he said. ‘I am wanting to be your partner.'

Jayne opened her mouth to protest but Rajiv held up his hand.

‘Please, let me be putting forward my case. You are a very clever detective, Jayne. You are bold and intuitive and this, combined with your ability to speak Thai, makes you very successful. But you are disorganised—'

‘Hang on a minute—'

He held up his hand again. ‘I cleaned up your apartment when you were in hospital, and if you don't mind me saying, your files were a mess.'

Rajiv was right. Paperwork had never been her strong suit.

‘I can help with that and more. I have excellent research skills, I am good at problem solving, and I can teach you to use modern technology to improve your business.'

‘Like how?'

‘Like using the internet—you can do background checks, look up addresses, make travel bookings. The possibilities are endless.'

Jayne toyed with her cigarette. Rajiv had a point. As more private detective services opened in Bangkok, she was at risk of becoming outmoded.

But did she want a partner? She'd never given it serious consideration. Yet looking across the table, it struck her that if she
did
want a partner, Rajiv would be perfect.

‘What about the bookstore?' she said.

‘Uncle is already coming back and taking over.'

‘Meaning a return to the old regime?'

Rajiv raised his eyebrows.

‘What about visas, work permits, that sort of thing?'

‘My responsibility,' Rajiv said. ‘I share the work and the risk.'

This explained his recent behaviour, both his eagerness to please and his choice of separate rooms at the guesthouse.

He wanted to be her business partner, nothing more. Maybe it was for the best. Why then did she feel disappointed?

A waitress appeared to clear their table. Jayne glanced around the room and realised that while they were talking, the restaurant had not only filled up, it had started floating.

‘I guess that's one way to guarantee we stay on for after dinner drinks,' she said as a second waitress appeared pushing a small trolley loaded with ice buckets and a selection of mixers.

‘Shall we get a bottle?'

‘Why not.'

She ordered Sang Som, the more drinkable of the local whiskies. The waitress returned with the bottle, measured out two capfuls into each tall glass, topped them up with ice and soda and added a slice of lime.

‘What shall we drink to?' Rajiv said.

Jayne thought for a moment.

‘To partnership,' she said, raising her glass.

‘Partnership,' he agreed.

‘On a trial basis,' she added. ‘I'm not sure it'll work.'

‘I am willing to give it a try if you are,' Rajiv said.

Jayne drank deep from her glass, wishing it were more than a business partnership they were toasting and reflecting on the irony of having missed the boat on romance yet again whilst literally drifting out into the middle of a river.

Rajiv picked up a plastic folder that had materialised on the drinks trolley.

‘The song menu,' he said. ‘Perhaps we should start with a duet in honour of the occasion.'

Jayne looked up at the stage, now bathed in light. The television was playing a karaoke DVD without sound, images of a Chinese couple frolicking beside a waterfall.

‘My problem with karaoke in Thailand,' she said, ‘is the lack of Oz rock options.'

‘Meaning?'

‘No Cold Chisel. No Angels. No Hunters and Collectors.'

‘I'm not familiar with those artists,' Rajiv said, scanning the song lists. ‘I am usually finding something I like. My problem is I'm terrified of microphones.'

It was on the tip of Jayne's tongue to ask if that were the case why he'd insisted on dining at a karaoke bar when the music intervened.

An enthusiast from Japan took to the stage to sing ‘Careless whispers'.

‘Not an easy song,' Jayne said, leaning close to speak into Rajiv's ear. ‘I was forced to sing it once when I was tailing a Singaporean man.'

‘What happened?'

‘The audience sighed with relief when I finished.'

‘No, what happened to the Singaporean man?'

‘His Thai wife was suspicious about the amount of time he spent away from home. Turns out there was no other woman, only a passion for karaoke. I encouraged my client to take singing lessons.'

Rajiv laughed loudly enough to be heard over the music.

Next a member of the same party performed ‘I'll be there', a ballad made famous by the Jackson 5.

Rajiv studied the song menu in earnest while Jayne topped up their drinks.

‘A bit of Dutch courage,' she said, raising her glass.

Rajiv matched her toast. ‘Do you know why it's called Dutch courage?'

She shook her head.

‘It is in honour of the seventeenth century traders from the Netherlands who fortified themselves with alcohol before sailing up the Thames River to leave food for Londoners besieged by bubonic plague.'

‘Now you're just showing off.'

Two girls took to the stage to sing a Thai pop song about loneliness and heartache. They were followed by four Thai men, who crowded around the microphone for a passable cover of ‘I swear' by All 4 One.

This started something of a boy band trend. A second group chimed in with ‘Back for good' by Take That, followed by a threesome singing ‘How deep is your love?' by the Bee Gees.

Rajiv excused himself to use the bathroom. Jayne eyed a nearby table where a group of farangs—Australians, British and Irish judging by the accents—were egging each other on but hadn't quite reached the requisite level of drunkenness to perform.

Centre stage was seized by a Filipino man who sang ‘I will always love you', sounding so much like Whitney Houston, Jayne could have sworn he was lip-synching.

At this point the Australian-British-Irish contingent took their turn. First a threesome, arms draped around each other's necks, stumbled through a rendition of ‘Love me tender' that would have Elvis turning in his grave, assuming he was in fact dead and not hiding out in Thonburi as the Bangkok rumour-mill would have it. Next two of them sang a cringe-worthy version of Tom Jones's ‘Delilah', flat notes reverberating through microphones held too close.

At this point it occurred to Jayne that if Dante were writing his
Inferno
in the twentieth century, surely one of the Circles of Hell would involve being trapped in a karaoke bar in the middle of a river with a group of drunken, tone-deaf men. She vowed to have a word with Rajiv about his choice of venue when she realised how long he'd been gone.

Surely he hadn't jumped ship?

She lit a cigarette and tried to look nonchalant as she scanned the room. More music started up, a piano riff with the hint of electric guitar in the background.

‘
I can't fight this feeling any longer/ And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow
.'